


Let Me Keep My Wasted Life

by The_Best_Damn_Dress_I_Own



Category: Hot Milk (Band), Stand Atlantic (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - Historical, Drag, F/F, M/M, Organized Crime, Speakeasies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2020-10-16 22:06:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20610095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Best_Damn_Dress_I_Own/pseuds/The_Best_Damn_Dress_I_Own
Summary: This is a gay mafia au. That's all there is to say about it.





	1. He Tells Me to Decide

James Shaw felt as though he could cry. He wasn’t going to, because he couldn’t ruin his makeup, but the feeling was there. 

He gazed around the dark, crowded speakeasy in delighted wonder. Never in his life had he been around so many people like himself. Men danced with other men, and women with other women. Everyone was enjoying themselves, dressed to the nines and drinking like fish. 

And there were so many people in drag. 

James had never left the house like this before. Dressing in women’s clothes was something he did for himself. In private. And then, as of recently, with his next-door neighbor and best friend Hannah. He’d been drawn to it since he was a child. It was art to him. An incredibly beautiful, freeing form of self expression. To be surrounded by other people that felt the same was mind-blowing. It was such a relief to see for himself that they even existed. The evening was a dreamy blur of drinking and dancing. A much-needed break for him from the harrowing trials of his regular life. James had never felt so light before.

As the night began to wind down, a beautiful man named Tom invited him to slow dance. They drifted across the floor, holding each other tightly, and James could feel his heart fluttering. 

It sank, however, when Tom leaned his face to James’s ear and whispered, “My boss would like to speak with you.”

James felt something pressing into his stomach. He didn’t need to look down to know it was a gun.

Tom led James down a dark hallway to a wooden door. He knocked three times and entered after a voice commanded them to “come in, gentlemen.”

Through the door was a moderately-sized office with walls paneled in fine wood. The high-backed leather chair behind the desk was empty, and instead Tom directed James to a sitting area in the corner, where a thin, long-legged man was draped across a velvet chaise lounge.

The chaise was flanked by two matching armchairs, each occupied by another man. To the right was a man dressed in drag. A fashionably-short wig framed his perfectly made-up face with dark red waves. His gown was much fancier than the standard attire out in the club, so James could only assume that he wore it just to show off that he could. He was burly, and clearly tall even though he was sitting, but his look was so well put-together that in ordinary company those facts alone would never have given away that this was a man. 

The man to the left was dressed more casually: a crisp white shirt that was unbuttoned at the neck and pants that matched a jacket that was draped over an arm of his chair. He had hair long enough that it was tied up in a bun and he was sat with military posture. His arm muscles tightened the sleeves of his shirt in such a way that James found it incredibly hard not to stare. 

Sure, it would’ve made more sense to be fixated on the giant guns these men were both holding, but James was a simple man. Besides, in his day-to-day, guns were unfortunately much more common than any of the other elements in this situation. And, of course, the bottom line remained that both of these men were way prettier than their weapons.

But the man in the center commanded James’s attention with his very presence. He wore an expensive, well-fitting, three-piece suit and his eyes were adorned with perfectly-applied liner and mascara. He smirked at James expectantly and motioned to a matching velvet sofa across from him. “Please. Sit.” It was not a suggestion.

James obeyed, adjusting his dress for decency’s sake as he did so, and crossed his legs the way he’d always seen women do.

“I haven’t seen you before,” the man on the chaise lounge informed him. 

James fought to keep his voice strong under the eyes of all four men. “That’s because I’ve only just— this is my first night.”

The man nodded. “What’s your name?”

“James Shaw.”

“Well, James, my name is David Potter. I am the owner of the establishment you are visiting tonight, and I make it my business to know or know of every single person that enters one of my clubs.” He made meaningful eye contact with James. “I was not made aware of you.”

“I...” James attempted. “My neighbor. She gave me the door password. Told me that this would be a, er, good environment.”

“And?” David Potter prompted him, his smile gaining a hint of warmth. “How are you finding the place?”

“It’s...wonderful,” James breathed appreciatively. “I feel _wonderful_...And drunk. And.” He swallowed a lump in his throat. “I’ve just...I’ve never been so free.”

Potter and his companions all looked very pleased. “That’s what we aim for,” he affirmed. “Please don’t take offense at our suspicion here. I’m sure you understand that this whole setup depends on secrecy.”

James nodded his comprehension.

“That being said,” Potter added. “I’m glad that you enjoyed yourself. I believe that the world is a very weird place and we would have nothing if we didn’t have happiness.” 

James felt the tears threatening in his eyes again. “It’s been really hard keeping this part of me a secret,” he admitted, “but I’ve never tried the clubs before because of my job. I can’t believe that this is what I’ve been missing out on.”

“What kind of work are you in?”

James set his jaw. “I’m a patrol sergeant for the twenty-seventh precinct of the New York Police Department,” he replied instinctively.

Potter raised a well-groomed eyebrow, his composure not faltering for even a second. “I see.” 

“But I promise you,” James blurted, realizing that amongst his current company there might be an issue with this latest revelation of his. “I’m here for myself, not to arrest you or gather information...or anything else underhanded. I’m here because I need to be.”

Potter absently felt his slicked-back hair for any imperfections. “And we’re just supposed to believe you?”

James nodded sincerely and gestured to himself. “If I were here for any other reason, do you think I would dare be seen like this?” When Potter didn’t look convinced, he continued. “And I’ve just given you my full name and job title. If I’m lying to you I won’t be very hard to track down.”

“Now, this neighbor of yours...the one who gave you the password,” the one to Potter’s right wanted to know. “Could she confirm your intentions?”

“Yes,” James said emphatically. “Hannah was just trying to help me out. We’ve been best friends ever since we realized that we’re both—that we share _certain tendencies_.”

“Hannah who?” Tom asked from over James’ shoulder.

James found that question to be worrying. He didn’t want to get Hannah in trouble for anything, but David Potter didn’t exactly seem like someone you could lie to. He sighed slightly. “Hannah Mee.”

Speak of the devil, the moment her name left James’ mouth, Hannah swung open the door, her lover Bonnie just behind her. 

“Hello boys,” Hannah greeted them, pausing for a moment in the doorway as if for dramatic effect. “Oh, James, love,” she cooed as she and Bonnie inserted themselves in the meeting. “You look positively divine! Is that the dress I bought you the other day?”

“Hannah,” Potter interjected. “Are you aware that your friend is a police sergeant?”

Hannah rolled her eyes. “Obviously.” She patted James on the head, jostling his wig in the process. “He looks _real _good in his uniform, too.”

“Han, you invited a cop to our club,” Tom complained.

“Yeah, a pansy one,” she retorted. “He’s trying to be himself just like the rest of us.”

Potter was looking at James intently, but his expression was not as hard as it had been before Hannah had come in. “Alright, James Shaw,” he decided finally. “You’re welcome to continue coming to my clubs in exchange for you keeping our secrets and never speaking of us while in the company of other police officers. And as you said, it won’t be hard to find you if you prove to be untrustworthy.”

James let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. “Thank you, Mr. Potter.” He figured that would be as good a way to address him as any.

“However,” the boss continued, “if you’re looking to get more out of this, I’m sure we could set up an arrangement...”

James wasn’t quite sure he was following. “What kind of arrangement?”

“Oh, the usual,” Potter flicked his hand dismissively. “You give us information and keep your officers’ noses out of our business.”

James narrowed his eyes a little. “And in return I’d receive what?”

David Potter grinned smugly. “You’ll be more than fairly compensated.”


	2. No One's Ever Seen Me Like This

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have plans for the actual long, overarching plot of this story to be told through chapters centering around different characters, but I also want to delve into the different lives and relationships on their own. So this is just a filler chapter, and I'll probably sprinkle in a few more of these throughout. Hope you enjoy.
> 
> (See my end notes for my brief discussion of why I, a grown ass adult, write band fanfiction)

“Miki, darling, do you think this red one of yours will fit him?” Potter called from within the trio’s large closet.

Miki attempted to respond, but his mouth was full of hairpins that hadn’t yet made their way into Jonno’s hair, so all that came out was a series of noises.

“Not sure if that was a yes,” came Potter’s voice again, “but I went ahead and grabbed it along with a couple of my own.” He emerged from the closet with an armful of dresses on hangers. His other hand held a few pairs of heeled shoes. 

Jonno took great pleasure in how positively gleeful his two lovers currently were. He hadn’t been particularly keen about them dressing him up for an evening, but his doubts were quickly erased as he watched them excitedly prepare everything and fuss over making sure the details were perfect.

“Done!” Miki announced triumphantly when the last hairpin was in place. “You’re going to look absolutely _wonderful _tonight!” He leaned down and kissed Jonno on the lips before going to wash the extra setting lotion off his hands. 

“Which do you like best?” Potter asked, gesturing to the dresses, which he’d laid out on the bed. 

Jonno studied them, not sure how to decide. They were all very elaborate. More elaborate than anything he’d ever worn. Miki’s red one _was _quite nice—Jonno always liked when Miki wore it— but it didn’t necessarily call to him. There was also an incredible silver and gold one of Potter’s that definitely caught his eye, but it just felt too overwhelming.

After a few more moments of consideration, Jonno selected one of Potter’s other dresses. It was black and adorned with shiny beaded designs and fringes. It was surprisingly heavy when he picked it up.

“Oooo that’s one of my favorites!” Miki gushed as he re-entered the room with Jonno’s shaving supplies. “Pot-Pot, be a dear and fetch my black shoes with the satin ribbons, will you? Those will match the best.”

He then proceeded to unbutton Jonno’s shirt. “That dress shows a lot of chest, love,” he admonished gently. “This could take a while.”

Once Jonno’s face, chest, underarms, and lower legs had been depilated to Miki’s satisfaction (and yes, it _had _taken a while), Potter, who had already begun to get himself ready for the evening, set to work on Jonno’s makeup so Miki could have a break.

Jonno found it nearly impossible to keep his face still with Potter straddling him and pulling the skin this way and that. The products tickled and itched his freshly-shaven face. Potter looked down at him with intense concentration in his kohl-rimmed eyes as he worked the strange magic he and Miki employed before every night out. Potter’s face looked increasingly pleased as he worked, but Jonno still doubted that he could ever look as pretty as his partners. They weren’t allowing him to look in the mirror until they were finished, so Jonno had a hard time even imagining a finished product. 

His face thoroughly caked with makeup and his eyes watering from the eyeliner, Jonno allowed Miki to help him into a brassiere and slip. Both were made from a smooth material that slid pleasantly against Jonno’s skin. The sheer stockings were not quite as comfortable, and neither was the noisy, weighty dress, but they’d gotten this far and Miki and Potter were practically bursting with excitement, so Jonno honestly couldn’t complain.

Next, Miki gently eased the pins and rollers out of Jonno’s hair, arranging the curls delicately. The hairstyle felt strange to Jonno, who’d only ever worn his hair up since growing it out. 

Potter made an approving noise as he further adorned Jonno with necklaces and clip-on earrings. “You look spectacular,” he whispered in Jonno’s ear before planting a kiss just behind it. 

Jonno had to hold onto the two of them for balance as he _finally _got to approach the full-length mirror. Walking in the shoes was hard enough, but they’d also made him close his eyes. 

“Alright,” Potter breathed, squeezing Jonno’s hand encouragingly. “Open your eyes.”

Jonno had to take a step back at the sight of his reflection. 

“What do you think?” Miki wanted to know immediately.

“I...” Jonno began, half surprised that the figure in the mirror copied his movements. The beautiful, sophisticated _woman_ with the smooth skin and perfectly set hair. “It’s...incredible,” he sighed appreciatively, still watching in awe as the dark red lips in his reflection formed the words. “You two are incredible.”

“So you like it?” Potter confirmed, always concerned with making someone feel comfortable.

“I _love _it,” Jonno promised, his eyes having still not left the mirror. 

He wasn’t _quite _sure that he felt fully like himself this way, but he _was _fully certain that he didn’t care. Even if he never did this again in his whole life, at this moment he looked and felt wonderful and he was going to embrace it. He’d never seen his hair so shiny and neat before, and his legs in the stockings and heels looked as though they belonged on a film star or in a clothing catalog, even with his visible sailor tattoos. And the dress... 

The dress was so much to take in with all of its beading and intricacies. It hung on Jonno’s body and would sway or rustle with even his most careful movements. As he looked at it more closely he worried momentarily that it was too much. That he was maybe out of his depth and that he wouldn’t be able to carry a look like this in the way that Miki and Potter did nearly every night.

But he _was _carrying it. They’d done such an excellent job and they were clearly pleased with it, so Jonno decided that yes, he _could _do this. And maybe he’d even do it again if it made Potter and Miki this excited. 

The trio arrived at the club once the night’s revelry was already underway. Potter and Miki were both clad in black dresses to match Jonno’s and he felt powerful as they entered the room in their usual formation: Miki on Potter’s right, and Jonno on his left. 

Before they’d left the house Miki had shown Jonno how to strap his handgun to his thigh under the dress. He felt the leather strap brush against his other leg and faltered again for a moment.

“Are you sure this is alright?” Jonno asked Potter quietly. “I mean, I’m meant to be the head of your hired muscle. Aren’t you worried that people could think differently about me now?”

“The only thing people will think,” Potter assured him, “is how on earth did I get so lucky?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY SO. A little while after I posted the first chapter of this story, Stand Atlantic and Hot Milk were made aware of the fanfiction being written about them (stories that, so far, have been written exclusively by myself, disasterboy, and caimani). I think they took it...rather well. I'm not terribly worried about them (or any other bands) knowing this is here, because I don't really write it FOR them. This is for my friends and for you guys (aka whoever else actually decides to read this), but at the end of the day, it's for me. I love writing but I was in a multi-year creative slump. Using band members as characters gave me more motivation to write because I already had a huge part of the work essentially done for me and I could just focus on writing new plots and creating new worlds. It's almost like an exercise, and it makes me want to keep being creative. Also, lets be real here, it's not exactly easy to find stories with these kind of...niche...plots that also contain queer (I hope no one takes offense at that word. I use it as a descriptor for my own identity but I know not everyone is comfortable assigning it to theirs) characters if the stories exist at all. Sometimes you've gotta create the content that you want. And that's really all that this is. If I chose to not present this as fanfiction at all it wouldn't be that hard to just change some names, but I'd probably still base the characters off of whatever person I wanted to/needed to in order to design someone believable. But I don't need to do that, because this isn't something I'm gonna try to get released professionally. I could, but for whatever reason, this is more fun. Yikes, this might be longer than the actual chapter. If you read this whole thing, thanks. I just wanted to make sure this got addressed.
> 
> TLDR: fanfiction is more fun to write than regular fiction sometimes


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